


Black Cat

by Maiisbuns



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21003101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiisbuns/pseuds/Maiisbuns
Summary: After a deal gone wrong, Ash remains the culprit to have started a city massacre. Taking advantage of the chaos, Eiji Okumura attempts to subdue the notorious lynx.  (20s AU)





	1. Turns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elena_stidham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena_stidham/gifts).

Two rights, a left, another right, and then the corner door. 

Ash repeats the instructions as he makes his first turn through the New York slums. They begin with a narrow alleyway then open to a series of makeshift tents and abandoned homes. 

The area seems desolate, but the trinkets sitting just outside of a lean-to have no dust, and Chinese lanterns still billow the slightest remnants of smoke. If Ash stops moving he can hear the shuffle of feet against the gravel.

They’re hiding—rightfully so. Between the law and the unrest after the war there isn’t anything else for the Chinese to do. They leave Ash to continue walking, and he’s careful not to turn back and see the slow trickle of people emerge from their own version of a foxhole. 

The first two rights lead him through a cramped alleyway that veers off into the next left. The walls close in making it just narrow enough to fit two people. 

Shorter Wong’s residence was as promised, situated in one of the furthest most alleys in Chinatown. 

A large wooden door takes up the end of the pathway, through it Ash can hear the sound of food searing followed by the familiar smell of jasmine. 

And then plates breaking.

“Do it yourself then!” 

Ash’s hand raises up and then down again after realizing knocking may not be necessary. The door flies open and out comes Shorter, stumbling over the threshold with a pot that’s about to spill. 

“Piss her off again?” Ash asks, trying to peek through the door at Shorter’s sister Nadia as it slowly closes. 

“No, she’s in a good mood actually.” Shorter smiles, trying to steady whatever’s in the pot that’s sloshing.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well, she’s got a new bet goin’, and it’s looking good.”

Shorter’s family was notorious for implementing bets under the guise of “Chinese ritual,” but it isn’t hard to tell that they’re just as good at playing their hand as any. From horse races to table games, Nadia seems to make wagers swell with no effort and leaves her brother to the rest.

In the weeks prior, both Shorter and Nadia had swindled their way into the winnings of three fixed races. Most of their money goes to helping the Chinese in the slums. A job that seems too above the Lee family, and sets Shorter and the Wongs apart from the rest of the city’s ill intentions.

“I have to deliver this to the rest.” Shorter grunts, adjusting to steady himself and the heavy vat. 

“Isn’t that hot?”

“Not anymore. A little more than lukewarm.” Shorter shrugs and begins walking, expecting Ash to follow. “Did you have any trouble on the way here?”

“Not anymore than usual.” Ash says.

“Since what happened in Manhattan…”

“What happened in Manhattan shouldn’t have happened,” Ash interrupts. “It was sloppy, and it’s causing us more problems.”

“Coppers have been coming through more and more.” Shorter nods.

The Manhattan Massacre, they were calling it. The job itself should have been easy. A truck full of war weapons driven down the countryside. When it pulled into the city grenades and guns would all be handed off to the highest bidder. 

Ash had taken his claim to it, until things went south when Golzine’s mafia intervened. The truck was hijacked in broad daylight halfway down their route and the guns became all accounted for. It had only been weeks but the bloodbath that ensued had already become the talk of the town. 

“They think you initiated it.” Shorter continues.

“Let them.”

“—People died, Ash. Not just people like us. Innocent people. It’s not safe out there for you.”

“It’s never been safe.” 

Ash gently pushes Shorter through the last threshold before the alleyway opens to the slums. He hangs back, watching Shorter set the heavy pot down in the middle of the clearing. The clunk and thud of it against the ground causes everyone to slowly emerge. 

Children run out first, racing to cling to the leg of their leader. Twigs that broke off from rent posts and makeshift floorboards all snap with the patter of their footsteps. Before long sons and daughters are peppering the road with their mothers in toe. They carry bowls and lidded vessels to bring back to their homes. The adults greet Shorter in Chinese, seemingly having an exchange that Ash imagines must feel like home. 

“Excuse me.” 

Ash stiffens up as a hand rests on his shoulder. He turns and realizes he’s been blocking the alleyway, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The other man smiles, his accent thick, though not quite like Shorter’s. He even wears an outfit with slight differences; slacks and a striped vest, a shirt with no traditional collar, and a tattered coat draped over his shoulders. 

He pays no mind to it. There were enough foreigners stuck in the city that Ash wouldn’t be surprised if they started to mix. 

As the stranger shuffles past, Ash follows, keeping a comfortable distance from the scattered crowd. They do the same, seeming to part in waves as he steps through to the middle. 

“You don’t have to help.” Shorter says with a laugh as he dangles a few children clinging to his arms.

“Least I can do.”

Ash scans the area trying to make out familiar faces among the group. Most of them are the same with a few new stragglers Shorter must’ve taken in. The same boy that pushed past him only a moment ago is propped up against a nearby wall, steaming bowl in hand.

They seem to be growing in numbers. Unlike his own gang, just a handful of troublemakers dealt more than a few bad hands.

“We’re getting better by the day.” Shorter says.

“I can see that.” Ash starts back toward the house, propping on his shoulder, “I don’t think I’ll come around much after today.”

“Why is that?” Shorter asks.

“I’ve got to meet the Lees tonight, at the docks. If anything goes bad I don’t want to bring it here.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“No one. You said it yourself—they think I started that mess in Manhattan. They asked me to come alone.”

“I’m going then.”

“Shorter…”

“I’m goin’. Don’t try and convince me otherwise.”

Ash drops the vat on the ground, letting the clang of it against a wall echo down the alley. “I said no!”

“I know the Lee clan.” Shorter growls, “I know they don’t have anything good enough to offer you at the docks.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“You matter to me, you may not believe it but some of us don’t want you dead.” 

Ash glares up at him, balling up a fist to jab into Shorter’s chest. “It’ll be fine. Especially if no one else has to get involved. I just came to tell you that, so if I don’t come around again you know why.”

His knuckles crack as Shorter leans into his fist only to pull away. Ash looks up and sees worry and anger. They part then, Leaving Shorter to traverse on his own.

It takes longer to get back to his own place. The car he was given by Golzine got stolen a while back, and the last horse he had got caught in a crossfire. Not to mention he’ll have to snake through the side streets to avoid any coppers. He thinks to take a taxi but even the divider wouldn’t be able to mask the tension the city has begun to carry. 

He jumps a wood fence and finally gets to his place. It’s quaint and poorly lit save for an oil lamp in the corner. There’s a kitchenette, bathroom, and a bedroom that Ash is almost certain might’ve been a closet.

With a flick of a match he balances his last stick of a pack of Black Cat between his lips. Off comes his off his coat, his suspenders hang past his hips, and he leaves his hat on the top of the nightstand. But when he reaches back for the revolver nestled in the waist of his pants, he realizes it isn’t there. 

With no use for the gun up to now, maybe he simply didn’t bring it. There were other, more discreet precautions taken, but he also knows despite his doubts, he isn’t stupid. He would not just forget. There isn’t time to mull it over. So he opens the drawer by the bed and pulls out a second.

He waits until the sun sets, slung over a skinny, flat mattress in an upstairs apartment. Cigarette smoke puffs from his lips, reaching up to the rafters. 

Some of us don’t want you dead.

It’s weighing heavy on his chest. Ash isn’t normally one to get anxious but something about the deal and what Shorter said had him twisted in knots. His own guys had said something similar. Alex offered warnings, and Kong and Bones stepped up to the plate, always ready to help. But Ash wasn’t in the mood for collateral damage, and playing dirty wasn’t going to be his game. 

There wasn’t any reason to fear the Lees. Regardless of who started the massacre they couldn’t care less. It’s more likely the Lees are grateful. Grateful that both of New York’s most dangerous leaders lives are still intact and in place to create just the right amount of chaos. 

Ash sighs, laying both arms wide across the bed’s expanse. He begins to drift off, letting the cigarette burn out when it reaches the bud. With the fading sunlight he can feel himself sink, and struggles to get up again when the time comes. 

He was told to meet in a spot nestled behind an industrial building. Wooden crates are stacked up high and only smaller boats are in the port. It’s a quiet night. Only the gentle push and pull of the water, and the light bump of the boats against the docks can be heard. If he listens closer he could hear the steam and whistle of the machines idle inside. 

A black car is parked a bit further down underneath a stairwell and pulley lift. It flickers it’s lights three times, triggering Ash to begin weaving through the crates.

He moves like a shadow through them, checking behind every now and then. Once he sees the end, something tells him to slow, as though reaching the last corner of wood should be taken with more care. 

The night grows louder, slamming the boats against the dock, and making the whistle of the factory into a scream. He feels pressure on the back of his head. He hears the rotation of his own gun barrel when he thinks to turn. 

The voice he hears is familiar, though it trembles along with the fingers against the trigger. That same accent from the morning, the boy sitting against the wall. Ash can feel his heartbeat in his chest.

“Please don’t move. Are you Ash Lynx?”


	2. Cinders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the only choice is to keep moving.

Ash can feel the barrel of the gun rattling as the man who holds it trembles. He’s hesitant, his finger is locked around the trigger unable to add the needed pressure to pull. 

Are you Ash Lynx?

Ash wishes he had the courage to say he wasn’t. As though renouncing the name would negate the string of bad decisions and poor judgement that had shadowed him since he was a boy. 

“Yes. I’m Ash. Now what?” He raises both hands, leaning his weight ever so slightly into his left foot. The weight of the gun to the back of his head grows heavier. Ash knows now, he's not hesitant—he’s angry. 

“I have business with Yut Lung.” Ash says plainly, “Though it seems I have business with you as well.”

“I just have something I need to do.” 

“Then do it.”

He doesn’t, but the barrel ceases its rattling and the pressure remains. 

“What’s your name?” Ash asks.

“My—why?”

“I can tell by the way you hold the gun, and how you talk. You don’t want to shoot me, you have no reason to. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even know how.”

“I know how to use a gun.” He says.

“Then use it. Don’t hesitate.”

In an instant the nagging push of the gun ceases, and the air grows still—causing his hair to stand on end. He’s familiar with this feeling, the rush of anticipation, the slow pooling of anxiety as one’s finger curls around the trigger. In the next moment there’s the explosive bang of gunpowder and the scent of cinders—nothing but a shrill ringing that brings him to his knees.

A gust of wind rushes past him. His hands are pressed over his ears when he feels someone tugging at his fingers, prying them loose. Another set of fingers pull his hair, yanking his head back so all he can see is the night sky, full of kicked up dust and stars.

Ash feels nothing but breath against his ear, the sound almost drowned out by his own eardrum’s screeching.

“We need to move.” It’s Shorter His words are muffled, adding to the dizziness. 

He can feel himself being hoisted up, steadied by his friends shoulder. Ash coughs, struggling to plant his feet so he might be able to run. “I thought I told you to—“

“It’s a good thing I tailed you.” 

He is dragged back through the alleys and into the slums. The gravel beneath him begins to warp and spin. When the wave of vertigo subsides he’s left with a throbbing headache and a tinge of nausea.

“Is he...did you kill him?” Ash asks.

“We both missed. Fucker ran off.” 

“And the Lees?” 

“Who knows. They might be following us.”

They take a break in a rickety stairwell off Third Street, relieved not to hear the grinding of wheels on gravel.

Shorter props Ash up against the railing, pushing back his hair and quickly wiping away the sweat from his forehead. 

“Pull it together.” Shorter hisses, “You gotta tell me where I’m going or this could all go to shit.”

“I can go. Don’t worry about it.” Ash says, but when he grips the banister he can’t pull up his weight.

Shorter huffs, draping the other’s arm back over his shoulder. 

Eventually Ash leads them back to his apartment. Getting him up the three flights leaves Shorter to pant in the hallway. But despite the stumbling Ash is quick, grabbing almost nothing except a few papers and an extra coat. They’re out just as quickly as they came. 

“That’s it?” Shorter asks.

“I can buy what I need later. Besides, there’s something a little more pressing.”

He refuses to be carried again, leaving him to breathe shakily as they traverse back down the apartment stairs. The headache seems to crackle in and out like radio static. 

I just have something I need to do.

The ground sways beneath him, making it hard to keep balance. He vomits as soon as they get out to the street.

“I’m sorry—” Ash breathes, wiping his mouth with his knuckles. “About Chinatown.”

“We’ve moved before, we can do it again.” Shorter shrugs.

He’s not wrong, and Shorter has something to gain from their alliance. They both do. But as they make their crawl back to the Lower East Side, people go quiet and Ash can’t help but continue to remember this isn’t the first time. 

He helps them tear down tent posts and pack up porcelain and dusty woven rugs. The children hug stuffed toys to their chests as their mothers hurriedly cram their belongings into satchels and burlap sacks. 

“They know where to go next.” Shorter reassures him. “When they get there someone will tell them if they need to keep moving.”

“The Lees will be looking for you too.”

“I’ll join up with them when this blows over.” Shorter shrugs.

They collect the last pieces of the alleyway camp. By then the rest of the occupants are already shuffling through the maze of buildings. Shorter instructs the women to lead their children through a section of the sewers, better to stay hidden in case of any crossfire. Ash runs a hand through his hair in relief as their footsteps recede. 

Shorter turns to look at him, brow furrowed in frustration. “Your turn.” 

“If you need me I’ll be at this address.” Ash says, stuffing a paper into Shorter’s breast pocket. “Try not to need me.”

“I should be sayin’ that about you. You need to see a doctor for the—?”

“Blown eardrum.” Ash shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” 

Shorter hands him his gun before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t blow out the other one, got it?” 

He doesn’t leave any time to respond, so they part ways.

He’s not sure where he’s going but Dino’s speakeasy sits on the corner of Fifth Street, wedged in between a butcher shop and a surplus store. It’s one of nearly a dozen makeshift hiding places. Ash hates how he finds himself bouncing between them more than enough lately. 

Three knocks to the door and the lock clicks to let him through another. The second is metal. When he knocks this time, a slot slides open, and glaring green eyes pierce through the peephole.

“So the kitten’s returned.” 

“Just let me through, Arthur.”

Arthur smirks, letting his lips reel back into a sneer as he pulls away from the slot, turning latch after latch until the metal door creaks open in its jamb. 

“I could always tell Papa Dino you’ve passed through.” Arthur says, grabbing him by the back of his jacket as he tried to pass, pulling him close. His voice carries a low hiss, breathing into the nape of Ash’s neck. “I think he might like that.” 

Ash yanks himself forward trying to hear past the narrow hall. Through his good ear is the muffled roar of the voices of several patrons and a barkeep. Jazz seeps through the air at a comfortable level. A glass clanks against another, and a woman laughs.

The thought of their obliviousness makes him nauseous. No one hears them—not that he’d want them to. He thinks maybe he should’ve gone to the bar on Orchard. 

Ash turns back to Arthur, tearing away from his grip. “You wouldn’t.”

“And why is that?” 

Ash shrugs, “Because you want to keep the rest of your fingers.” 

It takes a few more snide comments and a back and forth about the proper amputation of the ring finger before he can finally make his way to the furthest most barstool. The spot turns out to be more quaint than he assumed, and Ash’s seat is far enough away from the chitter of the other guests. 

He scans the room, inspecting men’s outfits and hair colors before turning back to the counter to order a scotch. 

Dirty brown trench, Asian, his voice was frantic, shaking with the rattling of the revolver’s barrel. That’s all he remembers. Whoever the guy was, he knew how to keep any identifying traits to a minimum.

Ash tried to recollect the moment in Chinatown when he touched his shoulder. How stupid he must’ve been to allow his attention to shift to the hand and not the gun being pulled from his holster. He’s not even sure where he can get another Smith and Wesson without endangering the dealer.

Subconsciously, Ash turns to scan the room again. The same woman laughs, glasses clank, nothing changes.

Ash turns back to the bartender, downing the first scotch and before he can offer a greeting he sends him off for another. They go down with a soft burn like poison, enveloping him with a sting and bringing him down slowly. 

“Been a while.” The barkeep finally interrupts, as Ash gulps down a third. 

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.”

He’s quick. With a mere flick of the wrist the barman manages to make the bottle and glasses disappear.

“I damn near own this place Max, you know that?” Ash huffs.

“Used to.” Max shrugs, “Gotta talk that over with Dino after the Manhattan heist.”

“You know about that?”

Max slides him a glass of water, “Everyone knows about that.”

Ash rolls his eyes and looks back again.

“Waiting for someone?”

“Not exactly.”

“Hm, I thought you might be. Someone came through earlier, asking for you.”

Every muscle in Ash’s body begins to tense. There’s no way he beat him here.

“He seemed like a nice guy.” Max shrugs, “Just said he had some questions.”

Ash balls his hands up into a fist, pulsing his grip and feeling the sting of his fingernails digging into his palms. 

They messed up somewhere. Maybe they’d made a wrong turn, maybe Shorter didn’t check behind them when they crossed into the alley. No, Shorter Wong is careful—his movements would’ve been sporadic. It’s impossible to follow someone’s pattern if there isn’t one, and yet—

“Ash.” 

Max’s voice causes him to jump. 

“Clean yourself up.” 

“What?”

“You aren’t staying at my bar sweating like that.”

“Whatever, old man.” Ash says, gulping down the last of the water and trudging off to the bathroom.

He bursts through the door and hunches over the sink, quickly splashing water over his face as his ear rings. When he’s done, he whirls around to check behind the small dividing wall to the toilet and urinal.

Wherever his hunter was, it wasn’t here. 

Ash puts his back to the wall in between the sink and the door, running his fingers through wet hair as he slides to the ground. He couldn’t keep up like this. Whether it was that man or the Lee’s it was certain they were still looking. 

They were a step ahead, checking places he thought would be only for him to frequent. 

Are you Ash Lynx? 

Suddenly he feels pushed back to the moment where the pressure of the gun was at its greatest. 

“Fuck it.” Ash hisses. He reaches into his jacket pulling out the pistol Shorter gave him.

If he wants Ash Lynx, then he won’t have to find him.


	3. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fed up with being followed, Ash starts putting things in motion.

In order to find someone you need to find who they’re connected to. New York in its labyrinth of brick and mortar created the perfect web of people who knew someone who would eventually lead to wherever it was they wanted to go. 

So Ash finds himself in the midst of Central Park the afternoon following the night in the bar. It’s quiet, only a few carriages are trotting along the dirt paved pathways and workers are quickly attempting to hide what’s left of the equipment used to drain the reservoir. He remembers in a few weeks they should be drying it out to make room for some kind of lawn. 

As he scans the expanse of grass and shitty landscaping he finally finds who he’s looking for on a bench under a branch of dogwood. 

“Blanca.” Ash says as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket.

Blanca stands, towering nearly two hand’s lengths above him. “You’re late.” 

“Had to run a few errands.” Ash shrugs.

They walk slowly, allowing Ash to watch every angle as he takes a drag of smoke. Once the trail reaches a secluded end of the park, tangled up in branches and brush, Blanca stops.

“I have nothing on the Moon Dragon or the boy he seems to have hired.” 

“What about his brothers? There’s a ton of ‘em.”

“Lee Wang frequents a hotel in Brooklyn. The Carlton, I believe. The other brothers travel between New York and Hong Kong, they’re likely on a ship here or there as we speak.”

“Damn.” Ash scoffs. “And Golzine?”

“London.” Blanca nods.

“Figures.”

Blanca knows what he’s doing, but despite the distaste of his occupation Ash was glad Golzine brought him to New York for hire. “You could have figured this all out on your own.” 

Ash shrugs, “You’re right, but that damn hired gun could be anywhere. Besides, you owe me.” 

“Owe you?” Blanca chuckles. “This job is far from a gift.”

Ash smirks, putting out the bud of his cigarette with the bottom of his shoes. “Gift or not it’s what you do.”

“The Lee boy then?” Blanca asks.

“No, The Gun. But don’t kill him.”

“Why?”

Ash looks up, brow furrowed as he tries to find any sign of reason. “I don’t know.”

Blanca promises to have the boy brought to him in a seventy-two hours. All Ash has to do is lay low. 

In the meantime, he has an appointment at a shop not too far from The Carlton. He gives Blanca a down payment before allowing an escort to the nearest cab stand. 

The inside smells like horse-shit and cigarettes. As Ash rides in the backseat he quickly cranks the window down leaning down just enough to breathe in the outside air unnoticed. They pass shops and hotels, and a few carriages loaded with families or shipments. As they bounce along the gravel the residential brownstones slowly change into the steam and gas of industrialization. 

He’s dropped off in front of an automotive shop. Once the cab pulls away he walks down to the end of the building and leans on a wall just shy of the entrance to a back alley. 

Ash can hear footsteps growing closer, until they stop, not quite coming out of the darkness. 

“You’re late, but I’ll take it.” Shorter says.

“Had some business.” Ash shrugs. “How’re things holding up?”

“Not a peep on my end. Still haven’t gone back to China Town though.”

“Keep it that way.”

“What’d you need from me?” 

“Meet me at the Carlton, eight o’clock. Take the fire escape.”

“Got a meeting with my own guys.”

“Ten then.”

He hears Shorter shift and his footsteps recede leaving Ash to start walking back and into the auto shop. 

Inside is a slew of factory workers hurriedly putting parts together in a well established flow. Ash pushes through to a back office, careful to avoid the loud clangs of meeting metal and the occasional shattered glass. 

When he makes it to the back there isn’t much of an office, just a wooden desk with some papers all smudged with a little oil.

The man in the office chair doesn’t look up, “What can I do you for, Lynx?”

“Need a car.” Ash shrugs, “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Wouldn’t your boss just give you one?”

“Ain’t my boss. Now are you gonna help me or not?”

“What kind of car? I ain’t even seen you drive, you always got a driver.”

“Something expensive. It’s for the—Monsieur.” Ash almost feels like gagging as he says it.

That takes away any more convincing. He leaves a few hundred dollars and the car is pulled around to the front. It’s all black with gold accents, just how Golzine would like it. 

As he drives away from the factory he grows a little jealous that the car isn’t for him. It drives like a dream, way less bounce than the other models or that shoddy cab. Nonetheless, he parks a few blocks down from the Carlton in a different hotel’s valet. 

As he walks he quickly tucks his hair into his cap, and pulls out a pair of glasses from the inner pocket of his trench. Not completely unnoticeable but if he keeps his head down and his voice low he should be able to check in without any problems. 

At the front desk is a woman in a qipao, making it even more blatantly obvious who manages the building.

“Need a room?” She says plainly.

“Yeah.” Ash crosses his arms, keeping his head tilted down as practiced, looking at his pocket watch as she kneels down to grab the books. “Two nights.”

“Name?”

“Griffin Clery.”

“That’ll be twenty, Mr. Clery. Room 402.”

Ash tips his hat and heads to the elevator.

“Does the room have a phone?” He asks the elevator attendant, leaning back against the wall as the dial swings by each floor.

“Yes sir. Just wait for the operator.”

“Of course.”

The operator likely keeps tabs on whoever makes calls from the hotel. At least if they were smart Ash would hope so. Nonetheless, he lets the line ring and asks to be put through.

“Alex.” Ash says, “How are things?”

“Griff! Ya know, we’re holding up. What’s been goin’ on? Not like you to call out of the blue.”

“Got some work to do here for the Times.” Ash sighs, “There’s a good scoop about that massacre. Thought I might be able to get a story.”

“Oh yeah? From who?”

“Dino Golzine. But I need your help to set up the meeting.”

Alex goes quiet for a few seconds, “Sure thing. What do you need me to do?”

He tells him his car broke down on the corner a few blocks away, and he’ll need a bunch of tools to fix it. Through a bland conversation about mechanics Ash manages to get Alex to do everything he needs to.

With the car secured and being brought to the destination, the only other thing to do is wait and watch. If Golzine and the Lees were working together, then it might lead him to the lost weapons and whoever it was trying to carry out the hit. 

Shorter arrives at ten as promised, tapping on the windows with a single knuckle. 

Ash opens the window, stepping aside as the larger man swings through. “Probably could’ve just come through the front. Don’t think they’d notice.”

“Takes the fun out of laying low.” Shorter shrugs.

“I got a car rigged. Alex is piling it high as we speak.”

“What’s the message?”

“No message, just a reminder. But I ought to do it in person.” 

“And the guy following you?”

  
  


“Got a handle on it.” Ash remembers Blanca’s promise of seventy two hours, “Once he’s gone, we get what was ours.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Writing seems to have gotten away from me for a while, but i'm finally feeling up to getting back into it! Thanks for being so patient with me, your kudos and reviews really push me to keep updating. Next chapter things are going to start getting tricky, tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> GIft for Elena_Stidham for the Banana Fish Gift Exchange.  
Follow me on twitter @maiisbuns!


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